you're better
by aeyta
Summary: bad bad fic. short short fic. the next one will be MUCH better. i just had this small idea and wanted to write it. centered around frida.


You're Better  
written by aeyta  
note: wow. a bust a groove fic. i really have no life. @_@ short and sweet. im making a longer one though. this is just a starter to get me ready. not really a romance fic. just a general fic. sort of dark. he he...  
  
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Frida dance against Heat. She was doing her best. Her arms were sore but she held them up, her legs were on fire but she pushed herself to the limits. A large, fake smile was pasted on her face.   
  
Yet somehow, she was losing.  
  
Where had she gone wrong? She was the best dancer. She was number one.  
  
Yet somehow, she was suddenly number two.  
  
The dance ended, and Heat won. He got a trophy, he was number one. And she was number two. how could she be number two?  
  
Heat looked at her and grinned, "You're good, just not as good as me," he joked.   
  
Frida looked at him coldly. Her eyes glared and her cheeks were rosy, sweat was dripping all over her body and her hair was damp. She felt sticky.   
  
Then she smiled a fake smile. Like always.  
  
"Yes, you're good." Frida walked away, hoping to god she'd never see him again. She decided she didn't like him. From that moment on.   
  
She hated him.  
  
Because he was better.  
  
...  
  
Frida drank her coffee, sitting in the seat, sipping and sighing as the warm fluid got to her body, releasing the cold.   
  
She looked outside the window, snow was packed out in sheets and icicles hung down low.  
  
It had been exactly two months, twenty-one days, three hours, and fourty minutes since she was labeled 'number two.'  
  
Failure.  
  
Unsuccessful.  
  
Weakling.  
  
Worst of all, second best.  
  
She shook her head, brushing the thoughts away. After that, she quit dancing. She couldn't be 'number two.' She wasn't born to be 'number two.' She was supposed to be 'number one.'  
  
"'Sup?"   
  
Frida looked up, her train of thoughts broken by a familiar voice.  
  
It was him.  
  
Number one.  
  
She glowered before putting on her fake smile, "Nothing much," she said sweetly.  
  
Fuck you.   
  
I hate you.  
  
Heat nodded his head, "Yeah... same here."  
  
Frida sipped her coffee, and winced as she sipped it too hard, it burned her tongue.  
  
"Hey..."  
  
Frida looked up, "Yeah?"  
  
"Why do you hate me so much?"  
  
Frida almost spit out her coffee. How could he tell? She put on her smile. She even answered his questions for god sakes!  
  
"I don't hate you."  
  
Heat looked serious, "I can tell you do."  
  
"Well you're wrong, because I don't hate you," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, she took another sip of her coffee.  
  
"Do you hate me because of the whole me beating you?" Heat questioned, he sat down across from her.  
  
Frida glared, "No. It has _nothing_ about you beating me." Frida got up. "Excuse me, but I think that I shall escort myself out, without you, thank you very much," she walked out of the cafe and started to walk home.  
  
Heat got up and followed her, "C'mon, why do you hate me so much?"  
  
"What the hell!?" she exclaimed angrily.  
  
Heat looked at her, "Why do you hate me?" his voice was low.  
  
Frida glowered.   
  
Frida smiled cynically before saying spitting out, "You're better. I'm number two and you're number one."  
  
Heat let go of her arm and looked at her thoughtfully, "I thought as much. Look, Frida, numbers don't mean anything."  
  
Frida shook her head. "Numbers mean everything. You're number one and I'm number two."  
  
"Does it really matter?"  
  
Frida nodded. "Numbers mean everything," she repeated, as if talking more to herself.  
  
Heat looked at her, "Fine. You're number one. I'm number two."  
  
Frida looked at him squarely in the eye, "No. You won. You're better," she said calmly.  
  
"I am better, but what does it matter?"  
  
"Everything. You wont understand. Leave me alone. I hate you."  
  
Heat looked at her, "Fine." He walked away and Frida watched him, her fists were clenched tightly in small balls and her knuckles were stark white.  
  
She sighed and walked away, smiling at herself proudly, thinking she'd never see him again. Which would be good.   
  
Since she hated him.  
  
He was better.  
  
///  
  
note: i know. short. bad. half ass job. he he... the next fic will be better though. 


End file.
